


Return to Receiver

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Bonding, Castiel is Not Innocent, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Hence the M rating just in case, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mail Carrier Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean hates the summer, and Castiel is a whole new level of heat stroke. As everyone knows, it’s not safe to look directly into the sun.With any luck, the sun’s rays will miss him today and he can go about his route as normal.But fate has a wicked sense of humor.“Hello Dean.”





	Return to Receiver

Dean never thought he’d prefer Martin Creaser over anyone until meeting Castiel Novak.

And it’s not because Martin was the Pope’s Twitter adviser. Martin’s probably the worst human being Dean’s had the displeasure of interacting with. Not only did he stand there, blocking at least twenty other peoples’ mailboxes while waiting for his mail to be handed to him—he’d take the time to analyze every letter front and back and then hand the junk back to Dean with a glare like _he’s_ the ad manager for “Miracle Diarrhea Reversal”. He wanted to tell Martin this isn’t the Vatican—he can’t just take out the parts he doesn’t like.

Castiel, the new owner of box 49, on the other hand, doesn’t say more than a few words and he renders Dean incapable of doing his job—a job he’s been doing for the past twenty years. He’s beyond nice, always walking out as Dean’s fitting everyone else’s mail in the slots (aka, shoving enough prepaid catalog magazines to put Santa out of business) and greeting Dean with a warm smile before asking how his day is. Most of Castiel’s mail, like everyone else’s, is a stack of bills and coupons lost amongst the horrid diarrhea ads, with the exception of a letter every now and again from an Anna Milton, who loops her l’s in a very sophisticated, very proud fashion.

Dean hasn’t seen a Mrs. Novak around Chitaqua Apartments, nor a second name on the bills, but it doesn’t surprise him Castiel has a girlfriend. Not only does that fringed red hoodie do no justice for those massive arms, but it fails to compliment his navy blue eyes. He may as well have journeyed the Sahara—barefoot, it seems, because he’s never seen Castiel wearing a pair of shoes—for his red-carpet look: between his tan skin, the tinted sand surrounding his mouth, and the tumbleweed atop his head.

Dean hates the summer, and Castiel is a whole new level of heat stroke. As everyone knows, it’s not safe to look directly into the sun.

With any luck, the sun’s rays will miss him today and he can go about his route as normal.

But fate has a wicked sense of humor.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean slams his head into one of the mailboxes.

“Oh my God, are you okay?!”

Dean pulls back, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good. I always wanted to try out my best Jack Gallagher impression.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” laughs Castiel. It’s both the antidote and the poison to the throbbing in his head. He opens his box and sifts through the content before handing something to Dean. “Here, you can have my weekly coupons to Trader Gadreel’s. And an aspirin, if you need it.”

“It’s alright, nothing gluten-free pizza couldn’t fix.”

“You think I shop there for pizza? Try three dollars for a Chardonnay.”

“I expect to be credited when a black fly falls in your wine glass.”

“Don’t give up on your day job, Dean.” Cas winks before waving the hand holding his mail. “Have a good one.”

 

 

On second thought, he may need to hang onto one of those chronic diarrhea ads.

~o~

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean acknowledges the man with a nod from where he’s crouched at box 58. The only reason Garth should be subscribed to five different laser hair removal flyers is having seen the waxing scene from _The 40-Year-Old Virgin_. “Hey, Cas.”

“Garth again?” he asks as the lock on his own box clicks.

Dean rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“If he just picked up his mail every other day, it wouldn’t be so much of a hassle.”

“I hope he’s busy getting laid, hair or no hair, because this is ridiculous.”

“I hate to tell you this, but that box is probably going to double in content. My friend Charlie told me he’s talking marriage already with a girl he met a few months ago.”

“A few months?” Dean repeats, shaking his head. “I won’t even know what I’ll have for _breakfast_ in a few months.”

That stamps a grin onto Cas’s face. “I take it marriage is out of the question for you.”

Dean shrugs as he stands up, futilely hiding his blush in the left collar of his blue shirt. “I mean, I’m down for marriage. I’ve always considered myself more traditional in that regard—which also means, you know… waiting more than a few months to commit to something so permanent.”

“Love is permanent,” Cas says, “marriage is temporary.”

Dean tilts his head. “How do you figure?”

“Well,” Cas starts with a small smile and a slight crinkle in his nose, “marriage is a date and a signature. It’s an action that takes thought and planning. Love is purely accidental. No one chooses to love anyone indefinitely. And very few of us are lucky to find love that lasts a lifetime.”

“Wow,” Dean marvels, “that’s actually really profound.”

“I would hope so; I’m a marriage counselor, after all.”

Dean snaps his jaw shut only after Cas bids him goodbye with a wink.

~o~

Dean’s running behind schedule, so he hands Cas his mail as he pulls up to the boxes.

“Hey there stranger,” he says, smiling, “I missed you on Columbus Day.”

Dean bites back a smile of his own and steals confidence from the pavement beneath him. “Believe me, if I had a choice in the matter, I would’ve delivered mail. I would say it’s a sanctimonious thing involving Columbus being the absolute worst human being to dedicate an entire holiday to, but I honestly miss the pay.”

When Cas laughs then, Dean can feel it rumble in his chest. He rationalizes, thinking maybe it’s actually his heart malfunctioning, and when the skin folds around Cas’s mouth to reveal an expanse of teeth and his nose wrinkles, Dean’s second guess is validated. “That’s fair. But you deserve a day off. I know I’ve had one too many.”

“I thought you said you were a therapist.”

“I am… or was. I still have my license, but I haven’t been practicing. I’m trying to get my shit together before I enter the work force again.” Cas’s smile twitches briefly. He glances down before replying, in a slightly lower voice, “The only downside is the free time.”

“I’m sure a weekly subscription to _Barewolf Laser Hair Removal_ would keep you occupied.”

Cas laughs softly, “Right. I’ll definitely look into that. I’ll let you catch up. Have a good one, Dean.”

Dean watches Cas leave with a small frown before resuming his box duties.

~o~

“I take it you found a way to counteract all that free time,” Dean comments upon handing Cas his Tuesday mail. Cas tilts his head before glancing at the ad in his hands. Then he’s full-on blushing.

“Amazon must’ve signed me up for… what is this…?” Castiel scrutinizes the ad further, as if he doesn’t already know the name of the company: “ _X Marks the G-Spot_?”

Dean shrugs, but not without a grin. “I can mark it as return to sender if you want.”

“No,” Cas says too quickly.

Dean raises his eyebrows.

“I mean… why bother?” Cas tries again, trying out a nonchalant shrug. “You probably just want to go home and relax anyway.”

“I could say the same for you,” Dean replies, winking. “Have a good day, Cas.”

~o~

Several weeks pass. The sex ads persist and soon, Dean finds himself trying to fit them in Cas’s small box with the rest of the mail. The letters from Anna become less frequent, so that helps in that regard. But the bills start stacking up, and so does another curious ad: discounts to the local casino. At first, Dean thinks he’s mistaken someone else’s mail for Cas’s, but it’s right there: Castiel Novak, Chitaqua Apartments, Box 49.

The first week, he ignores it. Then the ads become a daily thing. He debates approaching Cas with it. He feels like he’s developed a solid acquaintanceship with him, but he is just the mailman at the end of the day. It isn’t his business if Cas’s address somehow spread like an STD to every local company offering a smoking deal.

But on the other hand, Cas may not be barebacking on the internet.

He must sense Dean’s concern come week two, because he sighs as he turns around. “Follow me.”

Dean blinks a few times. “Sorry, what?”

“Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Dean throws his head back before glancing around. Any time someone invites him into their home, he walks out a little more bowlegged. And granted he’s on work, no matter how bad he secretly wants it, that’s definitely not a possibility today.

But now he’s intrigued.

Picking up his feet, Dean follows close behind Cas. They head up a flight of stairs overlooking a small green patch where dogs roam and give back to nature with their tiny little butts. Once his door on the far left side of the building is open, Cas gestures for him to go in first.

Despite it being midday and his apartment is closer to the sun; Cas’s place is dimly lit. But Dean can still see the myriad oil paintings lining every square inch, from his TV and stereo speakers to the opposite end, leaning against the kitchen counters, like large cotton walls trapping them in. However, they’re beautiful paintings. All landscapes. Dean’s traveling more just looking around the apartment than he has his last forty years of living. “What’s going on?”

Cas takes a step forward, letting the door close softly behind him. “I developed a bad gambling addiction around the time my marriage to my wife, Anna, started crumbling,” he says. “My practice collapsed shortly after. I took the single two paychecks from my last two jobs and blew through a thousand dollars at Hollywood Casino in a month. Luckily, I was able to sell a few of my paintings to make rent.”

“You…” Dean snaps his head back to the paintings. “I mean, obviously, you paint. Just… why don’t I see Michael’s or Joann’s ads crop up in your mail?”

“It’s something I haven’t seriously invested in in a while. I haven’t painted in five years. I put these out to motivate myself, but it hasn’t taken hold yet.”

“Five ye—Cas, don’t you get it?” Dean plucks one of the paintings from the stereo. “This is your out! Quit wasting time on miserable, dead-end nine-to-fives and helping other people with _their_ problems, and do what _you’re_ passionate about. Trust me, if I could get paid to yell at King Joffrey for being a grade A sadistic son of an incestuous bitch, I’d have put in my two weeks’ notice a long time ago.”

“Did I mention one of those jobs was working the local USPS front desk in Erie?”

“To be fair, I could never.” Dean visibly cringes just thinking about it. “You wonder why I work solo. I rarely have to interact with anyone.”

Cas bites his bottom lip sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Cas says, taking the painting from Dean’s offering hands. He looks over it like he’s seeing it for the first time too. “And maybe it could help curb the addiction. Give me a sense of satisfaction again without having to go to a casino. I guess I’ve just been lacking a muse.” Cas trains his eyes on Dean as a smile tips his lips. “Until now.”

Again, Dean hates summer. So it says a lot when, amidst the worst heat coursing through him, Dean manages to step forward. “You know, you can kiss me, but it’ll cost you.”

“Mmm, I don’t think I have the funds for that,” Cas replies with a grin, taking a few more steps forward.

“Good answer.” Dean reduces the gap between them with his lips. Cas breathes into the kiss before licking a quick stripe into his mouth like a flavored Hallmark envelope—no doubt tasting the cherry pie Dean had earlier. Dean’s the first to pull back, only to retort: “Next time, you’ll have to pay for postage.”

“Hopefully I won’t need to send you off next time,” Cas counters.

 

 

 

Luckily, that following Sunday, Cas doesn’t need to.


End file.
